


The Patch

by fickle_fics



Category: The Hour, The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crossover, F/M, grey white
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 14:42:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13572723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fickle_fics/pseuds/fickle_fics
Summary: Grey's left DoSAC to get over Malcolm, sadly her new boss looks a lot like him and Malcolm's not as easily forgotten as she'd like.





	The Patch

It’s all a bit weird really, he looks like Malcolm, but there are so many differences as well that she can’t keep her eyes off him, taking them all in. His hair’s dark, with only the slightest hint of grey to the temples and she’s pretty sure she needs to not be standing close enough to him to be able to see that. His suit’s better tailored as well, and then of course there are the glasses which he always wears, unlike Malcolm who really doesn’t wear them enough for her liking. No, not doesn’t, _didn’t_. She really needs to get into thinking about him in the past tense. He stands differently as well, straighter, more alert somehow, in some ways he’s completely different but there’s enough. The eyes, for example, and really his face is the same, just a little more...calm, maybe?

She probably shouldn’t be doing this, but what can she do? She can’t be with Malcolm anymore, it isn’t working and Randall, god Randall’s like a Malcolm patch, which is probably one of the most fucked up thoughts she’s ever had, which is really saying something, and they’re not that alike, not really. Randall’s all restraint and quiet authority and neither of those terms could ever be used to describe Malcolm. She might actually describe Randall as calming were it not for the OCD. It’s probably a bad idea really, because if Grey is trying to get over Malcolm sleeping with someone that looks so like him is probably the very worst idea in the world, but then she’s always been particularly good at having those, hell she fucked Jamie because they kind of sounded the same! This seems almost sane in comparison. Plus if she’s completely honest with herself the likeness to Malcolm is _exactly_ why she wants him. Why she’s laid in bed at night forcing herself to think of Randall instead of Malcolm. It’s always a comparison though, the idea that he might feel the same, taste the same, might even let himself be fucked the same if he could just let go for one moment. She’s always had a knack for taking Malcolm out of his own head after all, and Randall seems to need that just as much as he does, _did_ if not more.

 

Getting him into bed’s more difficult than she’d like it to be of course, not that she believes in getting people drunk and taking advantage, but it certainly helps ease things along. It would be so much easier if she could just knock on the door to his office with a bottle of whiskey like she did with Malcolm, but he doesn’t drink. Selfish bastard.

Whether it’s a good day or a bad one she isn’t entirely sure but he’s there in the pub with the rest of them after another long, hard day’s work and he has that strange tired look on his face as he sips his coffee and makes conversation and tries so _hard_ to fit in with them all.

It’s the moment when Grey realises he’s her exact type, her exact old type at least, faintly awkward and alone, and seemingly corruptible, and god she should feel bad for thinking all those things, but there’s just something so….old school about Randall Brown, so dignified. Which of course only makes her want to have him writhing under her in pleasure.

She’s been picking at the label on her bottle of cider she realises on her way over to him and turns back instantly, draining the bottle before ordering another, pristine one, because she doesn’t want it to bother him. He likes things a certain way, and god he’d probably have a heart attack if he saw the state of her bedroom.

He looks faintly surprised when she sits down opposite him, and she probably shouldn’t be surprised, she really hasn’t been there long enough to be so familiar. He isn’t Malcolm she reminds herself, they don’t have that shared ‘in your face’ personality.

“Are you enjoying the job?” he asks politely.

“Yeah, it’s great. A big change from when I was with Labour, but it’s what I’ve always wanted to do really, journalism. I really appreciate this chance.”

“You came highly recommended,” he says with a faint smile.

If Malcolm’s the reason she got this job she’s going to be highly pissed off, but then at least it means he still cares enough to help her out. 

“It was a mister Glenn Cullen, said you were very good. We’d normally want something from someone more connected to the media but I noticed when you applied you asked we not contact anyone in that department, can I ask why?”

She could lie of course, probably should really, but what’s the point? “You can’t tell anyone. I mean it, if you use this I _will_ go to the PCC, and trust me if you get on his wrong side you’re already finished.”

“He?” he asks, his face blank, and god that really annoys her, how he’s all but impossible to read.

“I asked you not to contact the press office for the party because Malcolm Tucker’s my…” Ex? She isn’t even sure she can say it. “We…” Had a thing? No that sounds cheap, and it was anything but that. 

“You were involved,” he states, because Randall Brown is just too smart for his own good.

“Yeah, and I didn’t want to get this job because of him.”

“I’m not a big fan of nepotism, Ms White, that would never have been an issue. But I assure you it will go no further. We have no interest in exposing such things.” He pauses and sips his coffee, his eyes on her. “A likeness between us has been commented on by quite a few people,” he continues.

Grey swallows, and really she’d love to pretend she hasn’t seen it, that her sitting with him has nothing to do with Malcolm, but really when it comes down to it everything does.

“Is that why you’re sitting with me?”

She should say something, anything, deny it, but she’d never been much good at lying. 

“This is very bad idea, Ms White,” he says. “I try not to fraternise with the staff.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she replies all innocence, the innocence that no one that’s ever met her has ever believed.

“Mister Tucker and I have very little in common as I’m sure you’ve gathered by now.”

“Yeah. you’re more stern headmaster, he’s more ranty madman.” She takes a long gulp of her cider. “In a good way I mean, he’s passionate. So are you, he’s just more the type to scream and shout about it, while you…” she trails off and shrugs. “Like I said, more stern headmaster, which works for me by the way, professionally speaking.” Another drink and she smiles against the neck of the bottle. “Okay maybe not _just_ professionally speaking,” she admits.

“Are you really trying to come on to me, Ms White?”

She sighs, puts her bottle down a little too forcefully. “Will you call me Grey, or Christ even Grace if you have to, just not Ms White, god you really _are_ the stern headmaster, aren’t you?” That idea probably shouldn’t do anything for her, but it does. Jesus, when did authority figures start doing it for her? “But to answer your question, yeah, yeah I am. Sorry.”

“Because I look like him?”

“A little bit, yeah, okay, actually yeah, quite a lot but….I respect you, right? I think you’re a great editor and think the paper’s ideology’s amazing. I think _you’re_ amazing, but yeah I want to shag you because you look a fuck of a lot like my...Malcolm. I don’t suppose you’ve ever really done the sex is just sex thing, right?”

“Once upon a time, in my youth. Nowadays...it’s difficult, the OCD.”

“I’m literally never gonna say this to any other man in the universe, but I’d do whatever you need me to, so it’s easy for you, so I don’t make you anxious.” She once again reminds herself of how utterly pathetic she can be at times, and she’ll always blame Malcolm for it of course, but sometimes she isn’t so sure. He isn’t Malcolm after all, and she does know that. But it’s is all connected, isn’t it? It’s _always_ fucking connected!

“You’ve always struck me as the type of woman that doesn’t follow rules. You’re...chaotic.”

“Well yeah, but I can probably reel it in. Not throw my clothes across your bedroom floor, unless a hotel room’d suit you better?”

“Did I give you any indication I wished to sleep with you, Grey?”

“Well no but...wishful thinking, yeah?”

He smiles slightly, and okay it’s probably not a great sign, he probably just finds her amusing, but that’s something, right?

He drains his coffee and sets it down on the saucer, handle of the cup at a right angle, everything so neat, so precise, and all she can think about is how likely she is to give him a nervous breakdown if he actually says yes, because he’s right, she is chaotic, and she’s really not entirely sure she will be able to hold back as much as she suspects he’d need her to.

“I don’t like hotels,” he says, and he looks around, everyone else seems happy enough, paying them no attention at all, but then no one ever pays him attention in these situations, he isn’t exactly the life and soul of the party after all. “Would you like a lift somewhere, Grey?”

She downs her bottle and puts it down more carefully than normal, looking across at him. He’s just trying to get rid of her, right? To take her home where she can’t do any more damage to him, which is definitely for the best, for both of them, because there isn’t a chance in hell this’ll end well, and there is a tiny part of her that cares about that, if only for Randall’s sake but it’s completely overruled by the incredibly stupid part of her that’s still madly in love with Malcolm Fucking Tucker despite everything and will do pretty much anything just for a taste of him again, even if it’s not actually _him_.

“Yeah, yeah please,” she agrees, still convinced it’s nothing but an offer to drive her home.

When he doesn’t ask her where she lives though she changes her mind, but doesn’t question him, doesn’t ask where he’s taking her, because she thinks she knows, and she also thinks it’s one of those things you’re not supposed to draw attention to, and because it’s Randall she doesn’t.

 

“So…” she stands in front of him, far too aware of everything, and it’s never been like this before, not with anyone. It’s normally all kissing and grabbing and removing clothes as quickly as possible. “Sorry, would it help if you undressed me? I don’t want to make it difficult.”

This is the worst idea he’s ever had. He can’t even remember the last time he did this with someone, and she’s shockingly understanding, which almost makes it worse because it just seems so unlike her. She isn’t the calm or patient type, he worked that out the first time he met her. In fact before now he didn’t even think she was the caring type, but it seems he was wrong on that count too.

“Would you mind if we undressed separately? If you could fold your clothes and place them over the chair,” he says, gesturing towards it. “And I’ll join you?” He looks down at her, confused and tired, and sure she’ll be making her excuses to leave before long. And it would be for the best, he knows that beyond all doubt.

“He’s nothing like this, is he? Do you have any idea what you’re doing, Grey? What you’re letting yourself in for? Because it won’t be the same, not in the slightest. I imagine he can undress you and toss your clothes aside like it doesn’t even matter. I bet he can make love to you without fixating on whether he’s touched you enough or equally. I imagine he can lose himself in your smooth pale flesh, can’t he? Because I won’t be able to do any of those things. I doubt I’d be able to stop the buzz in my mind even with you between my thighs.”

“Wouldn’t you like to find out though?” she says, with a smile that makes his cock twitch. “Because trust me, while I’m more than happy for you to tell me what to do, stop me, move me into fucking position if you need to, my main goal’s to stop the buzzing, to fuck you so well, make you come so hard, it goes away, even if it’s just for a second. I’m Malcolm Tucker’s ex girlfriend, do you have any idea how much shit he has on _his_ mind? Because I made him forget it, for minutes, fuck _hours_ at a time, so let me try, yeah? Just let me give it a go. If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work. If this all goes hideously fucking wrong well,” she shrugs. “We chalk it up to experience and that’s it.”

He wishes it was that simple, that if it all goes wrong he could just move on and that would be it. That he wouldn’t _actually_ have a full blown episode in front of his newest employee. She really has no idea, and he should tell her, but there are certain things he’d rather keep to himself as long as he possibly can.   
“I’ll join you in bed in a few moments,” he replies, because while there are so many things he should say they won’t help the situation, and perhaps she’s right. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, isn’t that what they say? Perhaps it won’t go badly. He has to find out what he can actually deal with in these situations.

 

He isn’t Malcolm. She lays there naked in Randall’s bed, her mind racing, trying to remind herself of that fact. Will her pubic hair be an issue for him? Is just her body too much of a mess for him to deal with? She’ll find out she supposes. She’ll find out so many things, like whether he’ll taste the same, whether he’ll feel the same, sound the same, whether his body beneath her hands and tongue will be like Malcolm’s, and god she hopes it will, because honestly whatever she has to do for some reminder of him she will, and she does like Randall, though apparently not enough to not use him as a substitute, but fuck it’s not like she’s lied about anything, because Randall would see through that straight away and she respects him too much to do that anyway.

“Just so we’re clear on this you stop this whenever you want,” he says, as he slides into bed with her, and he can feel her gaze on him, too heavy, too intent and he doesn’t suppose he stands up well to it, but then it’s not as if Malcolm Tucker is going to win any prizes for physique, is it?

She turns to face him, propping herself up on her arm. “Randall? Will you relax. I want to be here, I want to do this. He was just the same, y’know? Making sure I was sure, that I actually wanted him, even after I’d had my tongue down his throat.”

“Once he accepted it though it was easy, yes? I have OCD, Grey, this will not be the same.”

She could argue, but that could last all night and she really isn’t in the mood. So instead she changes the topic.

“Can I look at you?” she asks.

“You want to know if we’re the same in other ways.”

“Yeah.”

 

“Was he toned? Did he look after himself?”

Grey laughs, unable to stop herself. “He slept four hours a night and lived off maize based snacks and pop, so no, to both those questions. You don’t have to worry, Randall, he wasn’t some adonis. He was a man in his fifties that didn’t much care about how he looked, he had more important things to be thinking about. Also can we have a bit less past tense, he’s not dead.” The second she says it she realises she’ll never be able think of him like that, past tense, history, no matter how much she wants to move on.

He pushes down the covers, reaches over to turn on the bedside lamp and closes his eyes, letting her take in his body, nothing special, but as she’s pointed out neither was, _is_ Malcolm’s.

He’s a little thinner, a little more toned. Presumably he eats better, and he looks just a little younger, though his hair probably has a lot to do with that. It’s strange though, even without his glasses on he manages to still look a little different. there are hints of Malcolm, but he really isn’t the same and she can’t quite work out if that’s a good or bad thing.

“Can I...touch you?” she looks up at him frowning slightly because this is all so unher. She isn’t used to feeling so unsure, so cautious, it’s more difficult than she imagined it would be.

“Of course,” he replies and then he feels her fingers on him, gentle and tentative and so careful it almost hurts. “You said you used to quiet his mind,” he says. “May I ask how?”

Grey smiles, her thumb grazing over one nipple, toying with it idly. “You sure you wanna know?” she asks. “I’d hate to shock you.”

Finally he opens his eyes, turns his head to look at her and she looks so wrapped up in everything about him he wonders if perhaps she _could_ manage to make him switch off for a second. “I’ve seen and heard a lot of things, done a few of them too, you won’t shock me.”

“I really shouldn’t be talking about his sex life,” she says. “I don’t think he’d appreciate it.”

He smiles at that. She has integrity, respect. Despite how wild and disorganised she seems much of time it appears she’s actually a good person, so what if she’s using him for sex? There are probably quite a lot of men who wouldn’t exactly object to that kind of thing.

“It would put my mind at ease if I knew what you had in mind though,” he says. “To _attempt_ to quiet my mind for a moment.”

“Yeah but like you’ve pointed out you’re different people.”

“Tell me what you want to do to me, Grey,” he says, his voice rougher than he expects, thick with at least the possibility of desire.

She shifts a little bit closer, her eyes darting to his lips, and god she wants to kiss him more than anything, but she still isn’t convinced she _can_.

“Okay,” she says quietly, “But first I’m gonna need ground rules, because honestly this...you’re right this is way more difficult than I expected. I wanna kiss you, and touch you without feeling like I should ask permission before I do anything, because that’s gonna make it really fucking hard to do any of the things I want to, and for you to just stop thinking. So you’re gonna have to work out what you’re cool with me doing, right? And I’m thinking we’re gonna need a safe word, you use it and I’ll stop, anything, everything. Promise.”

“And what about for you?” he asks, “what if I want to do things to you? What about a safe word for you?”

She tilts her head, eyebrows furrowed at the suggestion and she wonders what he has in head, what’s going on in that brilliant mind of his that would make him ask such a question.

“You have complete permission to do whatever you want to me, as long as you don’t use force, or hurt me...much. But sure I’ll take a safe word, just in case, although just so you’re aware I’m really open minded.”

“You should be careful saying things like that, Grey,” he almost growls and she swallows hard, shifts uncomfortably beside him, trying to ignore the heat between her legs. Has she been wrong all this time? Has the perfect Scottish gentleman thing all been an act to hide something much, much more exciting?

“You need to hurry up and pick a safe word and give me those ground rules,” she says.

“You can touch me,” he agrees, “all of me, and you can kiss me, anywhere you like. I want to know if you’re right, if you can really do it. I’ll try to hand myself over, as long you’ll do me the same courtesy.”

She leans in kisses him slow and tender, her hand trailing from his chest to his cheek, a small moan escaping her lips as she pulls back. He doesn’t taste the same, not in the least, he doesn’t kiss the same either, but then she didn’t kiss Malcolm like that very often, it always tended to end up with a lot more heat and passion.

“You can have me however you want me, Randall,” she says and curls in a little closer, pressing herself against his side. “Just give me the safe word.”

“Penguin,” he says. “Now can we begin?”

“You want to know what I want to do to you?” she asks, curling in more tightly, and again he closes his eyes, breathes in the scent of her perfume, fruity and spicy, tries to focus on nothing but her, the softness of her skin, the sound of her voice. He’s safe here, he really does believe that.

“I want to get you hard, I want to be between your legs and look up and find you with your eyes closed and your back arched.” Her hand moves up to his hair as she talks, soothing rather than ruffling, her breath warm against his skin. “I want to get you so close and then stop, and I want to do that until all you can think about is your cock, and what I’m doing to it, til you’re so desperate, so hard, nothing else matters.” She dips her head, presses her lips to his neck at the pulse point. “I also want to work out exactly how to do that for you. Whether it’s the pain of nails digging into your shoulders, or filth whispered into your ear while my hand’s round you. Do you know yourself? Do you know what really, truly does it for you. M-Randall?”

“It’s always so hard to let go,” he says, ignore the slip. “But I think, once you’ve given it your best shot I’d like to fuck you, hard and rough.” He’s too hot, dizzy almost and he pulls back just enough to look at her face, to make sure he can see her reaction to the suggestion.

“Were you planning on pinning me down?” she asks and she hasn’t moved, her expression hasn’t changed at all. She glances up to the wrought iron bed frame. “I’m not much good with being tied up, I strain too much, almost broke my wrist once, but I can hold on, if you want. I won’t let go, not unless you tell me to. Sometimes, I can be a very good girl,” she purrs. 

He turns in bed to face her then, close enough that he knows she can feel his slowly hardening cock. “I’ll leave marks,” he warns.

“Perfectly precise and exactly where you want them to be, I imagine. Like a work of art.” And it isn’t so much that she’s stopped thinking about Malcolm, that never happens, sadly enough, but Randall’s definitely there, in the forefront and perhaps she shouldn’t be encouraging this part of things, but she embraced this side of herself a long time ago, so what’s the point in denying it now? Especially if it’s what he wants to do, because she is incredibly keen to give him that, to let him be in control if it makes it all easier for him.

“Not if you manage to switch off my mind.”

She shrugs like it’s nothing. “Then they’ll be more random, either way...Leave marks, hold me down, let out all that repressed emotion with me. It’s fine, more than fine. just don’t hurt me too badly. I like a bit of pain, it’s just the day after when I’m still sore it can be a bit of an issue, you know?”

“You can stay at your desk,” he says. “i’ll even bring you coffee, if you’re good enough to get me to the place where I can leave you aching you’ll have earnt it.”

“Coffee from the editor? People’ll talk.”

“No one talks about me,” he tells her. “No one would ever believe we’d done this in a million years. I don’t have it in me.”

“I think you do,” she says, slipping her hand down between them both, curling her fingers gently around his half hard cock, stroking him in careful, measured strokes. “You just need someone to find it, to bring it out of you.”

“And you think you’re that person?”

“I really fucking hope so,” she admits.

“So do I,” he replies. And it’s all vaguely wrong, but also surprisingly easy to get over because Grey’s just so willing, so open, so understanding.

“So…” she says. “Where do you want me?”

It doesn’t take much effort to roll her over, to have her on her back with him straddling her, looking down at her. She’s so young, so _eager_. He wonders just for a moment what the hell Malcolm Tucker was thinking, but it doesn’t matter, really he’s glad, because here she is, under him, smiling and breathing heavily, cheeks flushed. She _wants_ him, so what if that’s because of some other man?

“Here,” he says, leaning down, circling her wrists with his fingers as he brings them up above her head, exposing her, stretching her out before him.

“How am I meant to blow your mind if I can’t even move?” she asks.

“I think it might be a little late for that,” he says. “Perhaps another time?” He moves then, down between her legs. He’s forgotten how easy it could be apparently. It’s been years after all, but he’s hard and she’s eager so really why would it be so difficult? Especially with him in charge.

He moves her hands together, pinning her with one hand as he reaches down to position himself against her, to thrust in completely, not holding back, not thinking about anything but being inside her and she arches, moans out and elongates that beautiful body below him. “Like this?” he says, as he holds on to her hip, fucking her steadily, not too fast, he wants to savour her after all, but not slow and gentle either.

She nods, turning her head to look at her hands, at his fingers on them. She’s pretty sure she shouldn’t be as into this as she is, but what can she do?

He closes his eyes, throws back his head as he picks up speed, letting go of her hands to run his own over her body, grasping at her pert little breasts. It’s been years since he’s done this, taken a girl home, especially one so eager for him and somehow he really had forgotten the effect a woman beneath, _around_ him could have.

When he opens his eyes again her arms are still in the same place, over her head, her back still arched, her feet planted quite firmly against the bed, offering him some resistance, no, _pressing_ against him, her eyes open along with her mouth and she smiles as he catches her eye, presses into him harder still, still presenting herself to him - shameless and wanton and confident.

“Another time?” she manages, breathless as she starts to move with him. 

“If you want,” he agrees. Pulling her more firmly against him, his fingers pressing into her skin as he speeds up.

“If _I_ want?” She laughs and he feels it around his cock, pulling a desperate moan from him as he very nearly comes far too soon.

“This is just sex,” he says.

“Obviously.”

“But I want to see what you could do to me,” he admits. It’s something he shouldn’t think about he knows, especially not right now, when he’s already hanging on by a thread.

He watches as she reaches up to hold onto the bed frame. 

“Same,” she says, beaming up at him. “Remember, open minded.”

He manages to nod, his fingers pressing in harder still as the very thought of having her to do as he wishes to, and for her to do the same with him is all too much as he comes with a grunt and a thrust into her.

And still she smiles, chest heaving as she looks up at him, cheek flushed, hair a mess. Finally she lets go of the bed frame, clasps and unclasps her hands a few times before relaxing back down onto the bed with him still inside her.

“So?” he says as he pulls out, shifts to move beside her again, heart pounding and mind still hazy enough to not worry about things.

“So what?” 

“Was it like him?”

Grey exhales in amusement, turning her head to look at him. “No,” she says. “Not really.” She didn’t come for a start.

“How long were you..?”

“Fucking? A couple of years, before it all got too much.”

“Was it better, your first time?”

“Our first time I was on top, our second was so slow it was like fucking torture.” She closes her eyes and tries not to think too much about it.

“I’d like to make you come next time, Grey,” he tells her. He’d like to take her mind off Malcolm Tucker if only for a moment.

She would point out there’s plenty of time now, he has the same long fingers as Malcolm she’s noticed. But maybe this is this way of telling her they’re done for now. “You really want to do this again?”

“You made some very interesting propositions, before I lost control of myself.”

“And I meant every single one of them. But fuck, making you lose control was kind of the point, so I can’t say I’m too disappointed. But I would like to try again, the way I thought this was gonna go.”

“Then we will,” he says. “So...were you planning on staying the night?”

She sits up, looks at the clock on the bedside table, it isn’t even ten yet. “Think I’ll get going,” she says. “This is just sex, right? It’s a bit early for me and if I stay and we don’t just sleep...might get a bit weird, yeah?”

“Of course.” He moves to get out of bed but she stops him.

“I can let myself out.”

“I’ll have to check the door,” he admits.

Smiling she leans over to kiss him gently, just for a moment. “I’m sure you will,” she agrees.


End file.
